Staying Alive
by gwendy
Summary: This is just a scenario I pictured in my head on how Irene can be reintroduced into the series. Written more for humor than anything else.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson stepped out of the cab and looked up at the window of 221 B Baker Street. He hadn't been here for weeks, not because he was busy being a father, but because oddly enough, Sherlock hadn't so much as sent him a text. No phone calls, no e-mails, no visits, absolutely zero communication. He'd like to think that there was a dearth of cases, but when Mycroft texted him to check on his younger brother for the same odd behavior, John was immediately on the next cab to the flat.

John entered the apartment and was instantly greeted by Mrs. Hudson's smiling face.

"John, always happy to see you." Mrs. Hudson gave him a tight hug. "How's Mary?"

"Oh, she's doing fine. Splendid. She's uh…"

"You two haven't been sleeping well have you?"

"Not a wink," John sighed and gave Mrs. Hudson a resigned smile. "The little one's pretty much ruled over every aspect of our lives now. Thankfully we've had a lot of practice with Sherlock. Which begs the question, what exactly has he been up to?"

"He's doing one case or another, or so he says." Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Strange though because he's rarely out these days. I haven't seen him as often either."

John felt a trickle of cold run down his back. "And when…did this start happening?"

"Shortly after little Alice was born."

John swallowed hard as his mind went back to the last time he saw Sherlock, which was when Mary gave birth to their daughter, Alice, at St. Bart's. Sherlock had been as still as a statue when he leaned over to stare at the baby, and John imagined he was probably trying to deduce any pertinent information about the newborn.

But what if there was more to it than that? What if Sherlock had seen the baby as the final proof of their parting ways? Of John moving on with his life while Sherlock remained in the two bedroom apartment, miserable and alone? What if what he saw in the baby was everything he couldn't have?

Worse, what if he was falling into depression and spiraling into one of his dark phases?

Strange noises broke John from his reverie, his head snapping to the direction of the stairs. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"Sherlock. Laughing," Mrs. Hudson said nonchalantly. "He's been doing that a lot lately."

John was stunned into silence, "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock does not laugh. At least not like that. Unless…" His eyes widened, and after a moment, so did Mrs. Hudson's.

"Mrs. Hudson, stay by phone. We may need to call an ambulance in case he's OD'd." John bolted up the stairs, ran past the living room and to the corridor leading up to the bedrooms. He grabbed the door knob to Sherlock's room and swung it open.

"Sherl–"

John felt as though the floor opened up beneath him and swallowed him whole. He had imagined a vast array of scenarios, of Sherlock in the throes of a drugged euphoria, but never this.

Never the sight of a buck naked Sherlock Holmes, with a woman's shapely legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he rammed into her.

"Oh, good God, Sherlock!" John put a hand in front of his face but it was too late. All he could do now was keep himself from throwing up a good breakfast.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, fumbling for the sheet. "Has anyone ever taught you to knock first?!"

"I'm sorry, I thought you were–"

"Hello, Dr. Watson."

John froze. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Even if it had been five years.

He turned and sure enough, saw The Woman, Ms. Irene Adler, breathless and sweaty beneath Sherlock Holmes. " It's been ages hasn't it?"

It took a long while before John found his voice again.

"Doesn't anybody ever stay bloody dead anymore?!"

—end? —-


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** Funny thing. I never intended for this to be multi chapter but it seems to be gaining quite a following, so I'll continue this for a bit. The story is more for humor than anything else. Hope you enjoy the continuation :)

If you can, please check out my other Adlock fic "Her Chemical Defect", which is a retelling of ASiB from Irene Adler's point of view.

* * *

The sitting room echoed with John Watson's heavy footsteps as he paced angrily while Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, now sporting identical dark blue robes, followed his every move. Sherlock was seated on the arm chair while Irene sat on the arm rest. If she was leaning against Sherlock or the other way around, John wasn't sure. Maybe it was both. But it was clear that even after being caught shagging each other senseless earlier, they didn't want to spend even a second being physically apart.

John scrunched his eyes and did his best to stop himself from gagging when he remembered what he had seen earlier. It was no use. No cleaning agent could ever rid his mind of _that_ mental image.

John stopped pacing and glared at them. They didn't look the least bit terrified of his obvious display of anger, and it irked him even more.

"Why Sherlock?" he fumed. "Why do you keep on doing this to me?"

Sherlock's brows furrowed. "Doing what?"

"This!" John made a sweeping gesture at Irene. "Lying to me—"

"I never lied to you," Sherlock cut in. "I just omitted certain truths."

"And how long do you plan on omitting this certain truth?" John pointed at Irene again, spit flying off his lips.

"Sherlock dear," Irene smiled, putting an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. "I think we may have made Dr. Watson a tad bit jealous."

That finally blew the lid off what little control John had over his anger. "WHY IN GOD'S NAME DOES NO ONE EVER BELIEVE THAT I AM IN FACT, NOT GAY? IS IT NOT ENOUGH THAT I HAVE A WIFE AND CHILD WHOM I DEARLY LOVE?"

Sherlock raised a hand. "John, you need to calm down."

"I AM NOT GOING TO CALM DOWN!"

"I'm just having fun with you, Dr. Watson," Irene drawled. "Of course I believe you. I know gay men when I see them."

He was still angry at her of course, but as much as John hated to admit it, Irene had calmed him down a bit.

John pressed his face into his palms before running his hands to his greying ash blonde hair. He took another breath before striding to the arm chair across them and plopping down.

"So," he began tersely. "You mind enlightening me as to why Irene Adler is alive? Hm?"

"You should know John," Sherlock nodded. "You were after all the one who told me she got herself into a witness protection scheme in America."

"Oh, come off it, Sherlock!" John could feel a vein trying to break free from the skin of his neck. "I'm not stupid. You knew back then I was lying and that she was dead and yet..." John turned to Irene again, his eyes widening when realization hit him. "Bloody bastard, you knew she was captured in Pakistan."

"Karachi, if you'd like to be more specific," Sherlock corrected.

"Oh, this is just..." John shook his head, his lips curled up in a grimace. "Mycroft was right. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool him."

Sherlock shrugged. John wanted so bad to plant a fist on that smug face of his.

John managed to fight off the impulse. "Sherlock...I'm going to repeat my question. Why is Irene Adler alive?"

"Well, if you wish me to go through the minutiae of the plan I had concocted to rescue her in Karachi, it may take the better part of the day. But since you insist—"

"I don't want to know how you did it, Sherlock," John cut in. "I want to know 'why'."

Sherlock and Irene looked at each other. John didn't have Sherlock's deductive powers, but it was clear these two still retained their ability to communicate non-verbally with each other.

John watched as Sherlock looked away, his lips in a thin line. He muttered something under his breath.

John raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer. "Pardon? What was that?"

"Sentiment, okay, sentiment! There, I admitted it," Sherlock fell back into his chair, as saying though it out loud had knocked the wind out of him.

"Sentiment?" John was flabbergasted. "You mean you...her..."

Irene spoke up before John could continue. "The sentiments between Sherlock and I are mutual, in case you're worried."

"Oh, yes, I am worried," John nodded vigorously. "You've lied to us before. You've manipulated and used him, tricked him and—"

"All in the past, Dr. Watson."

"And am I just to take your word for it?"

Again, Irene and Sherlock shared a look so intense that John felt like an intruder.

Finally, Sherlock sighed. "We are in what you would call...a monogamous arrangement."

The creases on John's forehead deepened. "Monogamous arrangement?"

"We're in a relationship, Dr. Watson." Irene smiled widely and ran her fingers through Sherlock's hair. "And we have been for quite some time."

It took a while for John Watson to realize that his mouth was hanging open.


	3. Chapter 3

In a relationship. Sherlock Holmes. In a relationship with Irene Adler. A long-term relationship. John could hardly believe his ears.

He shifted back in his seat. He hadn't realized until then he had been on the edge of it. "So you two...are boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes as though he were suffering from a bad case of migraine. "Really John. You'd think I'd endow myself and Irene with such low labels?"

Irene. That was the first time John heard Sherlock speak of her name. Not Ms. Adler, not even The Woman, but Irene.

If he had doubts about the seriousness of their relationship, he didn't now. "For how long has this been going on?"

Sherlock and Irene both spoke at once. "Five years."

"Actually, four years, eleven months and three days," Sherlock corrected.

"We broke up briefly a year ago," Irene offered.

John saw Sherlock's jaw muscles tighten. "She was seeing other people."

"Clients," Irene corrected.

"Other people."

John watched in silence as Irene and Sherlock locked gazes. There were unspoken words between them, a strange sort of friendly but provoking banter.

John held his breath until Irene spoke.

"I seem to recall you seeing someone else. That Janine girl. A rather public romance I might say."

"It was hardly romance. She was a source of information."

"She was another woman."

"You did it first."

"I did it because it was my job."

"So did I."

Silence. Again, with the battle of the gazes, John thought, and released a deliberate cough to get their attention. "So you two have been shagging each other in secret all this time?"

"Dear Lord John, could you not use that term?" Sherlock said with a grimace. "It's so demeaning."

"So what have you two been doing then?" John gave them both a tight smile. "Having sex? Banging each other? Playing hide the salami? Or...making love?

Irene and Sherlock both looked startled, their intense blue eyes so full of alarm, John couldn't help but be amused. For two people who have admitted to being sentimental enough to commit to a relationship, they were still very much flustered when it came to the 'L' word.

Sherlock was the first to regain a semblance of composure. "W-We've been engaging in s-sexual intercourse as per the norm between two people who are in a c-committed relationship."

John chuckled inwardly. He felt a strange sort of satisfaction at hearing Sherlock stammer. This was only the second time he became witness to that, the first being after Irene had said 'Brainy is the new sexy'.

Then, another realization hit him. "Hold on. You said you've been seeing each other on and off for the past five years. Which means..." John's eyes widened. _Not again!_ "She knew! She knew you were alive. You were shagging her while you were pretending to be dead!"

"John, really. Must you always go back to using that crude term?" Sherlock shook his head. "And yes, of course she knew. Where do you think I got most of my information about Moriarty's network?"

Annoyed? Angry? Frustrated? Betrayed? John wasn't sure what he was feeling. His best friend had made him believe he was dead for two years while close to thirty other people were apparently aware he was not.

John turned his attention to Irene. Not surprisingly, his mood was still foul, even more so when he recalled an incident the year before. "If you're in such a committed relationship, why didn't you do anything when Sherlock was using in that crack den?"

"Dr. Watson, I actually do not reside in London," Irene explained in a bored manner, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. On hindsight, it was, John thought. "Sherlock and I visit each other from time to time. But to answer your question, no, I didn't do anything because I wasn't there when he was in the throes of his addiction. I couldn't. He had broken up with me at that point."

"Because of those other people," Sherlock inserted. It was obvious to John now that the ice dripping in Sherlock's voice was jealousy.

"Clients," Irene reiterated. "Over three years, we've been seeing each other and he never really set rules and boundaries. How was I to know continuing my line of work would upset him so much?"

"So you two broke up...and that's why Sherlock turned to drugs again?" John nodded. He had to admit it actually made sense. "And exactly when did you get back together?"

"After Mary shot me. Irene came to visit me in the hospital."

"Wait, what?" John was once again, floored. And just when he thought he had already gotten the hang of the day's surprises. "No, she didn't. She couldn't have."

Both Irene and Sherlock looked at John, their heads leaning towards each other, a pair of self-satisfied smiles on their faces.

John had to take a moment to cool his head down. These two can be so arrogant, he thought. "Okay. How?"

Sherlock, as always, began explaining away. "As ever John, you see but you do not observe. In my hospital room I was surrounded by flowers from well-wishers and yet there was one conspicuously placed in my direct line of sight: a lone red-rose on a table with a card that said 'W' using the font from Irene's website and a cut out of the pattern from her website background, which also happens to be the wallpaper of her bedroom in her Belgravia flat. Then there's the simple fact that in the state I had been in, it would have been impossible for me to escape unaided. And who better to assist me in escaping through the window than someone who already has experience on the matter?"

John held up a hand. "Wait...you're saying...Irene Adler got you out of the hospital?"

It was Irene who answered this time. "Why do you think no one could find him in his usual bolt-holes until he planted one for your wife? Who do you think suggested Leinster Gardens and set up the projector?"

"He was still gravely injured!" John fumed. "He could've died."

"I know." Irene nodded, then gave John a smile. "But you of all people should know there's no arguing with Sherlock Holmes once he's determined to do something."

"Indeed, there is not," John sighed, and despite himself, found a bit of amusement creep back in his voice. It was still all so strange, learning about Sherlock and Irene (he still wished he hadn't found out the way he did though), but he'll be damned if he says he wasn't happy. He'd always been a romantic, and even back then, he thought how perfect these two crazy people were for each other. "And you two have gotten back together? What about your job, Ms. Adler?"

"If you must know, I'm no longer in the sex trade." Irene twirled a finger around her hair. "One thing you learn about relationships Dr. Watson is that sometimes you have to make sacrifices."

John almost laughed. "Fancy this. Irene Adler, giving me relationship advice."

"You'd be surprised," Sherlock commented. The pride in his friend's voice didn't escape John, and he had to hold back from smiling widely.

He turned to Irene again. "Where do you work now, if I may ask?"

"She works for me."

The voice made John's breath catch. It wasn't Irene's. It wasn't Sherlock's. It had come from the door leading to the sitting room—a dry, deadpan voice so familiar, he was almost afraid to look.

Even more surprising was that all the colour had drained from Sherlock's face, his wide eyes turned towards whoever was at the door.

For the first time that day since being caught in bed with Irene Adler, Sherlock Holmes was in a state of utter shock.

John finally turned and sure enough, saw the proud form of Mycroft Holmes, the expression on his face like a cat who just got into the creamery.


	4. Chapter 4

John stared from Mycroft's self-satisfied smile to Sherlock's pale face and back again. At the corner of his eye, he saw that Irene was twirling a strand of hair in her finger again.

No one spoke for almost a full minute. Even the soft cackles from the fireplace sounded like firecrackers.

Mycroft finally punctuated the silence, his face showing obvious amusement at having one up over Sherlock. Again. "Oh come now, little brother. Do you really expect me not to know something as vital as this?"

Still, Sherlock didn't say a word. If the atmosphere wasn't so serious, John would've been in stitches at the way his friend's eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and the way he was unconsciously opening and closing his mouth.

It was rare to see the great Sherlock Holmes at a loss for words.

Mycroft let out a small cough. "Well, since my brother seems to have lost his voice, Ms. Adler, would you be so kind as to retrieve the files I had asked you to procure for me?"

Irene gave a quiet nod and headed towards Sherlock's bedroom. It was only when she stepped into the doorway that Sherlock finally spoke.

"How long...have you known?"

"A few months after you died," Mycroft answered. His tone was condescending, and John couldn't even begin to imagine how Sherlock must be feeling at that moment. "You seriously didn't think I wouldn't notice your sporadic absences during those two years we worked together to dismantle Moriarty's network? In the end, you remained as obvious as ever when it came to Ms. Adler."

John saw Sherlock's jaw muscles tighten. He couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction. After all the shocking revelations John had had that day, it was high time for Sherlock Holmes to have a taste of his own medicine.

Mycroft turned to John. "You can imagine my shock when I found out, Dr. Watson."

"At least you didn't find out the way I did," John said with a groan. He saw Mycroft's brows furrow, but one look at Sherlock and those brows rose in understanding.

"Oh, I see." Mycroft's lip curled in what John could swear was an amused smile. Or a grimace. "Well, luckily I didn't. Must've been quite a sight."

"Please don't. I'm still trying to erase that image from my head." John started to pinch the bridge of his nose when he remembered something. "Hold on. If you were going to come here anyway, why bother texting me to check up on Sherlock?"

"I calculated that you'd be here in twenty minutes but haven't gotten an update from you for over an hour. I figured something must have happened," Mycroft explained, then gestured towards the entrance of the flat with his umbrella. "You also left Mrs. Hudson standing by the telephone. A few words with her, and I knew it wasn't drugs that was keeping Sherlock preoccupied. Which brings us to..."

Mycroft lifted his head and gave a tight smile to Irene as she walked past Sherlock. John saw her hand over what looked like a USB to Mycroft. "Thank you, Ms. Adler. Excellent job."

Sherlock spun to Irene the moment she returned to his side. "You told me you were a flight attendant."

"I wasn't lying." Irene shrugged, finger to her hair again. It was now obvious to John that it was a nervous habit of hers. "It's more or less my day job. Gets me around the world faster."

"You lied to me," Sherlock hissed.

"I didn't," Irene denied, her voice soft and almost breathless as she winked and said, "I just omitted certain truths."

John saw Sherlock blink several times. He had to hand it to Irene; she knew the right words to say.

"Touché," Sherlock muttered, then paused." We're still going to talk about this later."

"Fine." Irene raised hands. "We're going to be seeing more of each other anyway."

"Seeing more of...what do you mean?"

"You two will be working closely together from here on," Mycroft inserted, swaying slowly with the balls of his feet, both hands still on his umbrella. "Consider it her penance, dear brother, for the sins of her past. And if it can help ease your distress, Ms. Adler only started working for me a few months ago, and on the condition that she keep the identity of her new employer a secret for as long as possible."

Sherlock's face hardened. "Why?"

Mycroft's face on the other hand, remained amused. "If you had known, would you have allowed her to work for MI6?"

John almost fell out of his seat when Sherlock shot up to his feet with a shout. "MI6?!"

"Sherlock dear, don't act so surprised." Irene's fingers found its way on Sherlock's shoulders. "I think I've proven myself more than capable of aiding you. Remember all those little adventures in Monte Carlo, Mumbai and Tel Aviv?"

"Which is exactly why I offered her a position at MI6," Mycroft interrupted and held up the USB. "In fact, her recent assignment to North Korea was a resounding success."

"North Korea?" Sherlock parroted, this time fully angling his tall frame to Irene's direction. "You told me you had a stopover in South Korea, not North."

"I never said it was South Korea." Irene traced a well-manicured finger around Sherlock's jaw. "I said Korea, and you just assumed."

John's eyes moved from Irene to Sherlock. How Irene could keep her smile despite Sherlock's obvious displeasure , John didn't know, but after a few moments, it was clear Irene still had Sherlock at the palm of her hand...or in this case, at the caress of a finger.

Sherlock sighed and slowly eased back into his chair. "Fine. But we're still going to have a thorough discussion about this."

"Save your little love quarrels for later, Sherlock," Mycroft drawled. John saw Sherlock wince. It was clear the choice of words were deliberate. Mycroft was enjoying tormenting his brother very much indeed. "Since the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I will need to talk to you about that mission to Eastern Europe. I know I asked you to go there by yourself, but I believe the chances of survival will be far greater with Ms. Adler by your side."

"Wait..." The alarm in Irene's voice was palpable, and when John turned to her, he saw what appeared to be panic in her eyes. "Sherlock and I will be going together?"

Mycroft raised his head, his chin jutting forward. "Is that a problem?"

John felt his shoulders tense when he saw Irene and Sherlock share a look. He'd had enough surprises sprung up on him today to know that there's another one coming.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft and shook his head. "We can't both go. One of us has to stay."

"I'm afraid that won't be an option dear brother."

"I can go."

All eyes in the room were suddenly on John. He hadn't meant to say anything. In fact, he wouldn't go so far as to deny that he enjoyed this little spectacle between the Holmes brothers (and the younger Holmes' special lady friend), but the thought of going on a dangerous mission sent his blood pumping.

"It's not like I haven't done these things before," he pursued. "You know that enough too, Mycroft. I can hold my own."

"Yes, but this is a dangerous mission, Dr. Watson." Mycroft shook his head. "And you have a newborn daughter to think about. Don't think I didn't consider you, but as it is, it would not be wise to send you."

"Then it wouldn't be wise to send both Irene and myself as well."

John felt a trickle of dread at Sherlock's words. He turned just in time to see Irene hastily leaving the sitting room and opening the door to what was his old room.

She came out a few seconds later, and John heard a sound so foreign, he had to stare at the floor to make sure it happened.

It did. Mycroft had dropped his umbrella.

"Oh dear God!" Mycroft's voice was practically shrill, his face the same pallid colour as his brother's had been earlier. "Sherlock, what have you done?

"You see Mycroft, one of us has to stay." Sherlock smiled and pointed at the bundle of dark curls in Irene's arms. "Unless you can designate a competent babysitter for your nephew?"


	5. Chapter 5

"You be a good boy to your Uncle John while we're away, okay Nero?"

"But Mummy, I thought my uncle is Uncle Mycroft," Nero said with a hint of indignation that was so familiar to John, he almost let out a laugh. That, and the fact that the three-year-old was practically a miniature version of Sherlock (save for the eyes), there really was no question as to his parentage. He was even wearing a dark coat with the collars turned up (no doubt the work of Sherlock's narcissism).

John took a moment to scan his surroundings. It had been a few days since Sherlock dropped bombshell after bombshell in 221 B Baker Street. Today saw them back in Mycroft's private airstrip, a private jet in the distance waiting to board two of MI6's finest.

John looked down at his feet where Nero stood, clinging to his trouser leg. The existence of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler's progeny had almost been the death of both Mycroft and John, and it had taken the elder Holmes a shot or two of hard liquor to calm down. But even after that, Mycroft couldn't gather himself enough to talk further, and had resorted to simply leaving. All other arrangements for what was to transpire today had been done over the phone, though John volunteering to be Nero's guardian had been done face to face.

"Biologically, yes, Mycroft is your uncle." Irene knelt down to Nero's eye level. Sherlock stood close by, he and Irene both sporting coats and dark clothing. "But John is Daddy's best friend, and almost like his brother, so he is considered your uncle too."

Nero nodded, his curly hair bobbing. "So he is my almost uncle."

"Very intuitive, isn't he?" Sherlock let out a tight smile, and John imagined it was so his friend could conceal how immensely proud he was of his little boy. That he leaned down to ruffle the boy's hair only cemented the fact. "Don't fret, Nero. Your mother and I will be back..."

"...before the East Wind comes," Nero finished, then looked up at John with what he could have sworn was the same smug look Sherlock always seemed to wear. "Daddy means he and Mummy will be back before winter."

John laughed. Thank goodness the boy was only three; at least he can still hide his inherited smart-arsery behind a layer of cuteness no adult could resist.

"You won't miss us too much." Irene continued with a soft caress to the boy's pink, round cheek. "We'll Skype as much as we can."

"Okay Mummy." Nero let go of John's trouser leg then threw himself into his mother's arms in a tight embrace. He then turned to Sherlock and raised his little arms, to which Sherlock responded by promptly picking the boy up, giving him one throw in the air before pulling him into a hug.

John's breath hitched, an open-mouthed smile on his face. It was quite a sight seeing Sherlock so...domestic.

Sherlock stepped forward and handed Nero to John, the boy making no fuss whatsoever as he reached out to wrap his arms around his 'almost uncle's' neck. It was unnerving to see a boy so young act so normal at the thought of his parents leaving. Other kids would've thrown tantrums. Then again, Nero was far intelligent and mature for his age. Comes from being Sherlock and Irene's son, John supposed.

Irene took a step forward to turn up her son's coat properly. It was clear this parting was difficult for her, though she managed to plaster a blood-red smile on her face. "Are you sure you're alright with this Dr. Watson? You'll have your hands full with your daughter."

"We'll manage," John assured. "Mary is already very much eager to meet Nero, and Mrs. Hudson has offered to stay with us for the time being. We'll be fine."

Sherlock let out an exasperated breath. "I did tell Mycroft to have Nero sent to our parents—"

"No," a voice called from behind, and in moments, Mycroft Holmes appeared at John's side, a plastic file folder in one hand, his ever present umbrella in the other. "Sherlock, I had a hard time keeping my composure when you dropped this one on me. Please spare Mummy and Daddy the tragedy of a possible heart attack."

John felt Nero shift in his arms. He looked as the boy stared at his uncle, then with a toothy smile not unlike his father's, said "Hi Uncle Mycroft."

Mycroft froze, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Oh...hi...Nero." He turned to Sherlock and sighed. "I suppose that's another thing I'm going to have to get used to. Being addressed with that title."

Sherlock smirked. "You're going to have to tell Mummy and Daddy one of these days."

Mycroft made a face. "Why don't you?"

"Okay." Sherlock made a show of pulling out his mobile and dialling. "I'll go give them a call right now."

"No, no, no," Mycroft shook his head vehemently, and John felt the slightest twinge of pity for the man. Sherlock had been playing his brother for days now and didn't seem to have any inclination of stopping. "I think it's best if the news came from me."

"A wise choice brother dear." Sherlock's grin widened as he pocketed his mobile.

Irene put a hand on Sherlock's arm and squeezed. "Dearest, I know you love your verbally jousting with your brother, but we do have a plane to catch."

"Indeed," Mycroft agreed, and handed them the plastic folder. "Everything you need is in here: files, documents, identities and pertinent contact information. Should you need more resources, you have me on speed dial."

"Very well, Mr. Holmes." Irene sifted through her handbag for a moment before producing a smaller plastic folder and handing it to Mycroft. "These are Nero's documents. Everything needed for his new school. I believe you and your brother have already discussed which one."

"School?" John parroted, his eyebrows raised. "He's three. Don't you mean day care?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Seriously John? You're going to put my son in a room full of babbling, drooling imbeciles who run around naked and eat their own boogers? No. Nero's in first grade."

John's feet suddenly wobbled as he stared at the boy in his arms. It was bad enough Sherlock made him feel like an idiot, but this kid too?

"Don't be so surprised, Dr. Watson," Mycroft drawled. "Sherlock was in first grade too at that age, although of course, in my case, I was already in the fifth."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Irene put a hand on his chest and shook her head slightly. Non-verbal communication again, John thought. These two are experts. They'd definitely work well together covert.

Mycroft tucked Nero's files in one arm and nodded to Sherlock. "Farewell then brother mine, Irene. I will see you both in six months...provided the mission is not as fatal as I first surmised."

"We will see you again, if only to prove otherwise," Sherlock nodded back, then reached out to ruffle Nero's bouncy curls. "We have incentive enough after all. Oh, and should you have the inclination to visit your nephew at the Watsons', try not to get apoplexies when Nero makes deductions. You too, John."

"Deductions?" Mycroft scoffed. "The boy may be smart, I admit, but even you didn't start deducing until you were seven."

"Hmm..." One corner of Sherlock's lip curled up. "Tell me, Nero, is there anything new about your Uncle Mycroft?"

"Uhm..." Nero gave Mycroft a once over and once again, released a Sherlock-esque grin. "He got fat."

John caught the way Mycroft's face twitched, and he had to stop himself from snickering.

"Very funny, Sherlock." Mycroft jutted his chin forward in what John thought was his unconscious way of not letting an imaginary double chin show. "The boy first saw me only a few days ago. You could've been feeding him with your constant insistence of my alleged weight gain."

"It's Uncle Mycroft's belt," Nero quipped, one finger pointed emphatically at Mycroft's waistline. "He had to move the belt buckle to a new notch."

Mycroft quickly buttoned his coat, his cheeks flaming. John wasn't able to suppress a laugh. "Tell me again why he's only in first grade?"

"He probably won't be for long," Irene answered proudly. "Take care of him, Dr. Watson. And do give my love to Mrs. Hudson and your family."

"I will." John turned to Sherlock and let out a sigh. Barely two months ago, they'd been in this same airstrip in what they had assumed was their final farewell. A lot of things have happened since then, a lot of revelations (mostly of a shocking nature). But now that they were back in this same spot, John didn't feel a sense of dread, or loss. If Nero's weight in his arm and the sight of Irene on Sherlock's arm were any indication, he'd say he was actually feeling...hopeful.

Sherlock gave him a once over and smiled. No words, and yet everything had been said as his best friend reached out a hand. "John."

"Sherlock." John gave Sherlock's hand a good shake. "Stay alive, won't you?"

"We will."

John heard Irene giggle. "Are you two trying to get me jealous again?"

John rolled his eyes and let go of Sherlock's hand. "Are you still on about that?"

"No, Dr. Watson. It's just that you look so adorable when teased." Irene laughed in a way that made John realize it must be one of the things Sherlock loved about her (though he'd probably jump off of the roof at Bart's again rather than admit it). His friend certainly was staring at the woman in a way that exudes utter fascination.

To John's surprise Irene leaned over to plant a small kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for doing this for us."

"Ah, now you're trying to get me jealous," Sherlock spoke in a clipped voice as he and Irene turned towards the jet, their steps unhurried that John could still hear them talking.

"Oh Sherlock, when have you ever been jealous of me?" Irene snaked an arm across Sherlock's waist and held it there. Sherlock responded by slowly moving an arm across Irene's back, eventually resting his hand on her shoulder.

"I broke up with you before."

"You can't do that now, can you?"

"Probably not nor do I have any inclination to do so again. It's too tedious."

John continued to watch as Sherlock and Irene both took the steps up towards the jet's door. He couldn't hear them anymore, but it was clear that conversation was free flowing. Nothing hostile. More of fondness and familiarity. It was heart warming, really.

"Look at those two," Mycroft grumbled just as Sherlock and Irene disappeared into the jet. "They look like they're going to a honeymoon instead of a dangerous mission."

"That may very well be what they consider a honeymoon," John chuckled, then paused when he saw Mycroft blinking rapidly. Thinking. "Mycroft? What is it?"

"No...I...something's not right."

John felt his brows deepen with worry as he moved Nero to his other arm. "What's not right?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to put my finger..." Mycroft froze, then snapped his head up so fast, John was afraid he might have broken it.

He watched as Mycroft took out the plastic folder which contained Nero's files and began sifting through the papers in a frantic pace.

"Mycroft, what are you doing?"

"Didn't you see their fingers?!" Mycroft fumed, then shook his head. "No, don't answer that. Of course you didn't."

"See what? What about their fingers?"

"Tan lines, Dr. Watson, tan lines! No wonder Sherlock gets frustrated with you and your lack of attention to detai—" That's when Mycroft took out two sheets of paper from the folder. One look, and his face took on the same colour as the sheets in his hand. "Oh, dear God. That bloody wan—"

The jet's engine roared as it took off, drowning out whatever Mycroft was saying. When John turned to look at the elder Holmes again, he found the man still so deep in the Queen's English, he had to try and cover Nero's ears.

"Adler Holmes!" Mycroft screamed, shoving the paper in John's face. "Nero Hamish Adler Holmes! It's on the bloody birth certificate. And this other one..."

"Their marriage certificate." John shrugged. "They're married, Mycroft."

Mycroft stared at John as though the doctor had grown another head. It was at that moment that John understood why Sherlock enjoyed getting a one up on his older brother. The shock on Mycroft's face was a sight to behold. "You knew?!"

"Of course I knew. Sherlock told me that same day he revealed Nero to us, right after you left," John informed with a huge grin, then frowned. "What? Hamish? Let me see that birth certificate."

"Wanker."

John and Mycroft paused, then slowly turned to the little boy in the doctor's arms.

"Wanker," Nero repeated with a giggle. "That's a funny word, Uncle Mycroft. What does it mean?"

"No, no, that's a bad word Nero." John shook a finger in front of Nero's face. "Don't use it."

"Why is wanker a bad word, Uncle John?"

"It just is."

"But a word can't be bad unless there's a bad meaning. What does wanker mean?"

"Oh dear Lord..." Mycroft groaned, and this time John shared his sentiments. "What am I going to tell Mummy and Daddy?"

"Mummy and Daddy nothing!" John said in a panic. "What am I going to tell Sherlock and Irene about the new word Nero learned from you?"

"Well...you're just going to have to surprise them in your next Skype call." Mycroft managed a grim smile as he looked up at the private jet disappearing into the clouds.

"Shock them is more like it," John said, then as an afterthought, added. "I guess we do need to even the score."

"Wanker."

* * *

 _That's it for this fic. I'd like to thank everyone who read, commented and gave their thumbs up. I'd also like to give a big thanks to those who asked me expand upon this fic, when it was originally intended as a one shot. Because of you, I too enjoyed writing this lighthearted literary romp. You don't see to many happier Adlock fics so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it._

 _Meanwhile, please do visit my profile and check out my other Adlock fics. Happy reading and see you around :)_


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